


a little lost

by lavendrsblue



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Kiss, M/M, Sharing a Bed, awkward high schoolers, what do you mean this didn't happen in canon? it's right there in the text
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 11:01:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18072182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavendrsblue/pseuds/lavendrsblue
Summary: Daichi slaps a hand over his face, muffling a groan. Having a kissing dream about Suga while they’reliterally sharing a bed—what could be worse, honestly.The night before Nationals, they're supposed to get eight hours of sleep. Daichi gets considerably less.





	a little lost

**Author's Note:**

> can you believe that suga and daichi were literally created to complement each other? neither can i.
> 
> title from the sufjan stevens song of the same name, which i have been obsessed with since 2015. thank u daisuga for finally giving me a chance to reference it

Their first kiss is nothing short of magical.

Even at sunset the air is still pleasant, the last purple-and-pink rays warming their skin and the sand cool under the toes. Waves roll in gently around their ankles, Daichi’s hands tangled up in Suga’s shirt, Suga’s arms draped around his neck. They're wearing billowy white shirts, and gentle music floats in from some unseen source. There isn’t anyone else on this whole stretch of sand, a seascape just for them.

Daichi pulls Suga in tighter, wanting more of the warmth and the feel of the soft linen under his hands. Suga ducks his head and his lips burn hot against Daichi’s neck; Daichi lets his head fall back, sighing.

“This is the best dream I’ve ever had,” he says—

—and he wakes up, gasping.

Embarrassment floods him—had dream-Daichi-and-Suga been wearing  _matching outfits?_

Thankfully everyone else is still asleep; snores are audible from the next room. Daichi sinks back into his pillow as reality blinks back in pieces. Ten sleeping bags slotted in like puzzle pieces around the Yamaguchis’ living room, as per orders from Ukai:  _I want you all to get eight hours of sleep_.  _No yawning at Nationals tomorrow._ For once, there had been no complaints.

It must be past midnight by now. An almost-full moon hangs high in the sky, silvery light pushing through the curtains of the guest room where he and Suga are sharing the Yamaguchis’ guest futon (captains’ privileges).

He slaps a hand over his face, muffling a groan. Having a kissing dream about Suga while they’re  _literally sharing a bed_ —what could be worse, honestly.

“Daichi?”

Shit.

 _You really walked into that one, Sawamura_. He squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe he can pretend to be asleep, like maybe he just… slaps himself in the face while he dreams, sometimes. Suga might believe that.

“Are you okay?” Suga sounds concerned, and Daichi wavers. He can’t let Suga worry tonight, not when they all need a good night’s rest.

“Yeah… sorry. Did I wake you?”

Suga shakes his head. “What happened?” The mattress shifts as he rolls onto his side. In the dim half-light, Daichi can make out the glint of his eyes, wide with worry. “Were you having a nightmare?”

He resists the urge to cover his face again. “No.”

“A stress dream?”

“Uh… not exactly.” He lets out a gusty sigh, imagining that the curtains flutter because of it. “Did you?”

“Yeah, I already had two tonight.”

Daichi turns to look at him. Suga is unsmiling—so unlike earlier, when he was going around slapping all the first-years on the back.  _Look alive, you have the tournament of your lives tomorrow!_ “That sounds awful.”

“It was.” Suga flops onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

And now Daichi feels terrible. Having shoujo fantasy kissing dreams while Suga has been lying awake with anxiety… Guilt swarms him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Daichi listens to their unsynchronized breaths, soft and even.

Then, into the silence, barely audible: “I dreamed that I was on the court. Center court, even.” Suga huffs out a laugh. “And I messed it all up. Ruined things for everyone. And they put me back in the box, and I just knew I was going to stay there forever. I’d never be helpful, never contribute anything.”

“Suga…”

“Don’t bother. I know I’m expendable.”

“You are  _not_ ,” says Daichi, heated, and Suga shushes him with a glance at the door. Outside, the snoring rattles on, uninterrupted. Daichi continues in a whisper: “We wouldn’t be here without you.”

Suga makes a noncommittal noise, gaze shifting to somewhere over Daichi’s shoulder.

“Suga, I mean it.” He shuffles a little closer; he needs to look Suga in the eye when he says this, to make sure Suga really  _hears_ him. “There’s no one else who can cheer everyone up like you can, and no one who sees the whole court like you. The team needs you. I n—”

And he pulls up short at Suga’s expression, wide-eyed and soft and vulnerable in the moonlight.

“Daichi,” whispers Suga.

His stupid animal brain, or whatever voice in his head that screams at him at inopportune moments, rears its head to yell,  _TELL HIM!_ But he can’t, not when Suga is looking at him like that across the pillow.

A long silence stretches between them; Daichi can’t look away, but he can’t continue. An unnameable thread of  _something_ stretches between them, a crackling tension that holds him as if paralyzed, watching Suga’s lips.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” says Suga—quiet, wounded. The thread snaps, a sharp pain seizing up in Daichi’s chest like he’s been struck.

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I know.” Suga heaves a sigh, closing his eyes. “I don’t think you’re lying, it’s just…”

“Just what?”

A wrinkle appears between Suga’s eyebrows. He’s worrying, or psyching himself up to do something, Daichi isn’t sure which.

Suga rolls onto his side to face him, eyes still closed, and Daichi catches his breath at how close they suddenly are.

“You were going to say that you need me, weren’t you?” Suga opens his eyes. His pupils are blown wide to accommodate the darkness; Daichi can almost see his own reflection. “But that’s not true. You don’t need me.”

“But…”

“But what?”

Daichi swallows hard. Words come so easily when he’s giving pep talks to the team, but right now, here in this bed with Suga a breath away, they’ve never been more difficult.

But he draws from that well of courage-or-something deep inside him, and leans in anyway: “I want you here, next to me. You’re my vice captain. I can’t do this without you.”

Suga’s lips part in surprise, and his breath skims Daichi’s chin. His gaze drops to Daichi’s mouth.

Daichi is hyperaware of his own space, and he only has time for one shaky inhale as Suga moves across the infinitesimal gap to press their lips together. One of them is shaking—or maybe it’s both of them—or maybe it’s all in his head, the mixed disbelief and screaming excitement clattering around inside him, the awe that this is  _really happening_ , they are lying in bed together with the blankets snug around them and they’re kissing, they really are, better than every time he’d dreamed of it.

“I meant what I said before,” he says in a rush when they break apart, panting like they’ve just run a dozen laps. “We, I need… I mean—”

“Slow down,” Suga whispers. His shoulders shake with a quiet laugh, and Daichi feels the movement in his whole body. “Take your time.”

“I meant it.” Daichi lowers his head to Suga’s collarbone where his shirt has slid askew. “I do need you here—” he presses his lips to the soft skin there, and drinks in the gasp it elicits— “always, and no one can take that place.  _No one_.” He punctuates each sentence with another kiss, and Suga’s answering gasps, his fingers twisting in Daichi’s shirt, add fire into his veins, suffusing him with determination. This is the effect Suga has on him: he draws out the fire and forges Daichi into something greater than the sum of his parts, better and more whole than he ever was alone.

“Daichi,” Suga murmurs, his voice low and scratchy like Daichi’s never heard before, and if  _that_ doesn’t light him up, the way that Suga drags him back up to capture his lips again, kissing him hard with tongue and teeth—that certainly does the job.

So they kiss and kiss and kiss, for an indeterminate amount of time. It’s better than any dream Daichi has ever had; his subconscious couldn’t have imagined the sound Suga makes when Daichi drags his fingers through his hair, or the heady weight of Suga above him, arms bracketing Daichi’s head as he kisses him deeply.

Eventually they find themselves breathing together, laying on their sides again, foreheads resting against each other. Suga’s voice, small and sleepy, breaks the silence: “I don’t think we’re getting eight hours tonight.”

Daichi laughs, no more than a puff of breath against Suga’s chin. “Can’t say I’m complaining.”

“Me neither.”

Suga’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he yawns. Daichi wants to kiss his eyelids, but that seems too—intimate, even though they’ve just spent who-knows-how-long kissing.  _In bed_ , his brain adds helpfully.

“We should sleep now,” he whispers, to give his mouth something else to do.

“Mhm.” Suga wriggles closer, hands tucked against Daichi’s chest, and his heart stutters.

“Are you comfortable? I can move—”

“Daichi.” Long fingers twist into his sleep shirt, holding him in place. Suga tilts his head up ever so slightly, so their lips brush when he speaks. “Stop worrying. Sleep time.”

And Daichi exhales, feeling the tension in his shoulders snake out of his body. His heart is still pounding about a million beats a minute, but that can’t be helped—not when Suga’s soft hair is still brushing against his forehead, when their feet are tangled together.

“Goodnight, Suga,” he whispers.

And so the night before Nationals, nose to nose, they fall asleep.


End file.
